Rip the Universe
by rulemakerheartbreaker
Summary: The Cullen's attempt to aid a newborn turned by one of their own.


**I think is is where I'm supposed to put the disclaimer saying I don't own Twilight or any of it's characters. Obviously.  
This started out as a writing exercise and didn't really have a direction but I think I may turn it into an actual story.  
Who knows.**

**This is my first time posting my writing so try not to castrate me too bad, okay? **

**Sleep: Azure Ray**

There was an unspoken beauty in the way her blood stained the freshly fallen snow. A crimson imperfection bruising the faultless white of the forest floor she'd been deserted on. Time was beginning to blur as the sun traded places with the moon and as the temperature dropped her body began to burn.

If this was death than she wouldn't wish it on the foulest of men.

Snarls ripped through the silence that had begun to settle, startling the young girl when she realized that they were escaping her own frozen lips. The echoes of her searing pain rippled in waves across the tree tops and with the last bit of her conscious thought she couldn't help but wonder if anyone could hear her, if there was anyone to save her from whatever hell she'd stumbled into. Hours seemed to pass, hours that felt like days, hours of inches of freshly fallen snow trickling down to bury her burning body like whiteout over an ugly mistake. And then, "There she is—" a voice. Struggling for a moment of clarity she unclenched her eyes, gasping uncontrollably as the oxygen fled her lungs. "It's okay." The man above her assured, "We're here to help you."

There was no reason for her trust them. There wasn't a single thing that proved they weren't there to ravage her nearly lifeless body.. but something in their oddly golden stare provided relief. And with that, everything else fell to black.

It all seemed like a dream. There was a blur of voices and visions flickering between burst of insatiable agony and the sound of a phonograph's needle scratching at a record from the 1940's somewhere beneath her. Grinding stone teeth together as the last bit of fire extinguished from her palms she relaxed, letting herself find a moment of peace in the absence of her anguish. Maybe it was the subconscious knowledge that everything had changed that kept her eyes glued shut for another few minutes or maybe it was just the feeling of multiple figures patiently... waiting for her to so much as twitch.

"Honey?" the sound of an inhuman voice flowed softly towards her followed by a quick warning not to get too close from someone strangely familiar. "Oh stop, Carlisle, I'm sure the poor girl is terrified enough." A warm touch from a friendly hand caught the girl off guard and it took everything she had not to attack. It must have been obvious by the sudden tension of her jaw because whomever it was backed away.

"Let her be. She'll come when she's ready." Carlisle whispered and almost instantly she was alone. Moving a single hand across the sheets beneath her she deducted that she must have been placed in a bed sometime during her unconsciousness. Cracking a lid she surveyed the area, half expecting to find herself in some kind of shabby hotel instead of the lavish room laid out before her. Irises dusted across powdered skin as she checked for missing pieces; arms, legs, hands, and feet. All ten fingers and toes were accounted for. So what had changed? The pain she'd felt couldn't possibly have left her unscathed. From across the room an antique mirror called, begging to show the girl her twisted reflection. If her body had been left preserved than it must have been her face that took the brunt of the damage.

One foot in front of the other she crossed the stilted floors, gliding gracefully until the distance had been met. Taking a deep breath she sighed, attempting to ignore the hollow feeling in her lungs. There was a moment before her vision focused that everything seemed impossibly close, the grains of wood in the embroidered frame and the chips of golden paint on its surface. It made it difficult to concentrate on the point of interest but not quite as difficult as it was to comprehend when she finally did.

She wasn't breathing anymore, she didn't need to. There was an emptiness every time she heaved her chest that felt too natural not to be alarming. Staring back at the blood eyed monster in the mirror she growled, letting the low snarl rumble from her burning throat before smashing a hand against the glass and turning to find answers.

"What's going on?" She screamed. The question had torn out in the form of a roar but the family didn't seemed alarmed. In fact everyone seemed annoyingly calm. One of the recognizable faces stepped forward but didn't speak, letting the older man maneuver around to take center stage.

"That's a difficult question to answer. It takes some explaining. Please, sit down." He said, waving a hand towards the couch currently harboring a kind looking woman, young but poised beyond her physical years. After a moment of deliberation she accepted the man's offer even though it seemed trivial. Pleased that the girl seemed to be presently rational he persisted, "Why don't we start with introductions; what should we call you?"

"Celia." She whispered. "My name is Celia."

"Well Celia, My name is Carlisle Cullen and you're sitting next to my wife, Esme." The woman smiled kindly in accordance, "and this is our son, Edward." He continued, motioning to the bronze haired boy who'd moved to stand beside a different woman, one that was soon introduced as his wife. "My family's lived here for quite some time and we've never seen you before."

Celia's brows furrowed, "That's because I've never been here before. Look, I don't have time for this." She choked. Suddenly the spark that had been warming her throat grew into a dangerous flame and there was a certain desperation in her attempt to dowse it for fear that her body would be consumed again.

"We need to get her thirst under control." Edward began to warn in no more than a whisper but Celia's ears were no longer capable of mishearing. Everything was remarkably brash; the ticking of the every clock in every room, the needle of a gramophone scratching against a record that had long played its last song, floors creaking, air moving though there was still none in her lungs, and the sound of the once thought silent snow falling from darkened skies to erase natures mistakes with its temporary beauty. No, she could no longer pretend to have missed someone's words and it was becoming increasingly clear that she couldn't mollify the blaze with dry swallows and soundless pleas.

Carlisle didn't do anything other than look at his son but the boy seemed to have gotten the message and promptly excused himself almost as swiftly as he'd returned. The cup in his hand sloshed back and forth with an unidentified liquid but the aroma sent Cecelia into a frenzy. "Drink this." He urged, "You'll feel better."

"That's what they all say." Was all she could manage before ripping the cup from his grasp. Each gulp managed to ease the pain and it wasn't until she was on the second glass that she began to question its contents. Raising a finger to the corner of her mouth she wiped away the remains, staring for a moment at the color red against her snow-white skin. Edward took a step in front of his wife cautiously before the look of disgust could register on Celia's face. The cup should have fallen to the floor when her grip loosened but it hadn't, instead it was sitting on the coffee table undisturbed. "What kind of nightmare did I wake up in?"

The question hadn't been directed towards anyone in particular, none of them appeared to be capable of supplying the answers anyways. In fact, it was beginning to seem like the only thing they were good at was looking around cautiously and stepping in front of each other in the event of her spontaneous combustion. "Is _anyone_ going to say _anything_ that actually_ makes sense_?" She hissed, "I was in the snow, in the middle of the forest, and now I'm here!" It wasn't until stone hands gripped her shoulders with implausible force that she realized her body had lunged forward to attack.

There had been a reason to be cautious after all.

"We are here to help you," Carlisle's voice rang soothingly from her right but his constricting hold didn't budge. Even with his sons help they were struggling to keep the girl from regaining her mobility and Celia instinctively snarled when she was told to calm down. "You're body has gone through an extreme change. It's stronger, faster—"

"—but why!? Why am I different?"

For the first time since their introductions Edwards's wife stepped forward. There was a certain kind of sympathy in her eyes that didn't match the others. It was that of a kindred spirit, someone who understood what the confusion was capable of doing. Bella, of all the Cullen's, knew what it was like to be on the outside looking in. Pushing up a sleeve she revealed the scars sprinkled along the length of her forearm, slowly running a finger across each one, "It's because you were bitten."


End file.
